


Walls We Build Around Us

by lucymonster



Category: Bleach
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-01
Updated: 2013-07-01
Packaged: 2017-12-16 18:17:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/865113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucymonster/pseuds/lucymonster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Renji copes with Byakuya’s reticence in the only way he knows how.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Walls We Build Around Us

**Author's Note:**

> For matchynishi, who planted this whole scene in my head and put up with my endless flailing. :)
> 
> Beta’d by w3djyt.

There are lines that Renji wouldn’t dream of crossing.

 

Some of them are obvious. Neither in public nor in private, under the dark shelter of nighttime nor in the very throes of passion, does Renji call his captain by his given name. Thinks of him by it, in the safe haven of his innermost thoughts, where he lets it echo through his mind like a divine hymn - _Byakuya_ \- and the contraband intimacy of it makes his heart race and his skin prickle. But spoken aloud it’s always ‘Kuchiki-Taichou’, and that’s fine too. It’s reassuring to know that, whatever else passes between them, the fixed relationship of commander and subordinate will be waiting unchanged beneath it all.

 

Other lines aren’t quite so clear. The value Kuchiki-Taichou places on propriety pervades even the most intimate moments of his life. It’s not that he lacks passion. It’s just that passion is so much more _subdued_ with him, and Renji - who’s used to going through life at full volume, shouting his passions to the heavens - spends a lot of time biting his tongue before he learns to keep his noise to an acceptable level. To speak, not to shout. To whimper, not to sob. To sigh, not to scream and swear and beg - and try not to bring the _whole_ security detail rushing in to defend them at an inopportune moment.

 

They speak a lot more than they used to, these days, but their conversations are always stilted and relentlessly shallow. They don’t talk about the past, or the future; they don’t talk about themselves. Kuchiki-Taichou shies away from too much softness or affection, and so Renji doesn’t try to catch his hand or hold him or even kiss him. Only sometimes, in his sleep, the captain rolls over and presses close against him as though drawn to the warmth of his body, and when that happens Renji wraps his arms around him tightly and kisses his hair and savours every precious moment before the even breathing by his ear lulls him back to sleep. It’s these little moments of unchecked vulnerability that remind Renji why respecting the boundary lines is so important. Because what he has now is more than enough - and the rest, he knows, will come in time.

 

Even if that time is not today.

 

Kuchiki-Taichou’s hands are deft and businesslike as he works at the ties of Renji’s uniform, faltering only when he leans in to run possessive teeth and tongue over the network of tattoos he is exposing. There’s no kindness or tenderness in the captain’s touches - he doesn’t even make eye contact, and Renji has to bite his tongue to hold back an impatient whimper as he submits to the one-sided ministrations. That warm mouth leaves his skin crawling with goosebumps in its wake.

 

Tentative, he brings a hand up between them, strokes his fingers over the growing hardness he can feel pressed against him, and hisses when Kuchiki-Taichou’s teeth sink into his shoulder. An insistent shift of his hips tells Renji the attention is permissible, and so he keeps palming gently as the last knot comes undone and the shirts of his uniform slither down his shoulders to bunch around his waist.

 

Kuchiki-taichou looks at him now, but it’s only to frown at his hakama as though they’ve personally insulted him. “Take the rest off,” he says. It’s a command, not a request, and it sparks a strange, jittery feeling in Renji’s stomach. A restless, _reckless_ feeling - like he’s about to jump from a great height.

 

Renji doesn’t buy that the distance Kuchiki-Taichou holds himself at is a matter of desire or preference. He doesn’t buy it because he’s seen every wistful glance, every faint glimmer of emotion behind that indifferent facade. He steps back, and the captain continues to watch him, eyes dark and glassy with desire, though the rest of his face remains impassive. There’s not a lot of show Renji can put on for him tonight; it’s just an inelegant hop-step out of his hakama, a clumsy flourish of fabric as he removes his fundoshi, and then he’s standing stark naked in the cold evening air before a man who hasn’t even seen fit to shrug off his captain’s haori yet. Renji’s stomach gives another strange lurch. He’s always wondered if Kuchiki-Taichou knows just how much he gives away in these moments - because Renji can see the faint tremble of his hands now. Can feel the impatience of those hands as they reach out to him again with just a _little_ more haste than is strictly necessary.

 

Renji sees more than anyone’s ever really given him credit for. He knows that Kuchiki-Taichou is a man who has spent his whole life systematically fortifying his soul: concealing every vulnerability behind towering walls of impenetrable rock. And Renji adores his captain - respects him with an intensity that borders on reverence - but he isn’t bewitched and he isn’t deluded. He bites back a small moan as Taichou’s hand runs down his chest and across his stomach, still possessive, still in control - still not meeting his eyes. He doesn’t know. Doesn’t know that Renji can see every crack in his walls, every crumbling stone, every point of weakness.

 

That hand dips down further between his thighs, and Renji hisses as the captain cups his balls in a warm palm and rolls them gently back and forth, teasing. This is how it always is between them: Kuchiki-Taichou tests and teases, stretching Renji’s limits, stretching his control while staying always just a little out of reach. It’s as though he’s afraid to surrender his pleasure to another’s hands, and Renji finds the irony too heavy for words; that a man as proud and privileged as Kuchiki Byakuya doesn’t know how to sit back and just _take_ what Renji would offer him, if he had the chance. He wishes he could reach out and pull Byakuya in, thread his fingers through his hair, press their bodies together and show him just how much he craves this closeness. Instead he brings his hand back between them, fisting the captain’s erection through the cloth of his hakama and starting a slow stroke that elicits a quiet sigh and a subtle shift of hips to ask for more.

 

_I’d give you everything, if you asked for it._

 

It’s moments like these that the Renji risks losing sight of the boundaries between them, caught up in the swirling tide of passion that says: no. It’s not right, for a man like Byakuya to think he has to hold back in front of a man like Renji. And so he lets himself be guided forward on pure impulse; he needs to show this gorgeous, infuriating man before him that there is _so much more_ than the stunted, cautious contact he’s been allowing between them. The idea swells in his mind, blotting out everything else, and then all of a sudden his knees are folding and he’s moving down, pulling away from the torturous caress, to kneel at his captain’s feet.

 

For a moment, there is nothing but silence.

 

Byakuya’s eyes are wide, uncertain: looking on in surprise as Renji dips his head low, pressing his lips against the tip of one pale toe and skimming slowly upwards. Kuchiki-Taichou has narrow, elegant feet and slender ankles - and a voice that sounds _irresistible_ when he’s surprised or confused.

 

“Renji, what are you-”

 

“May I?” The soft, plaintive request cuts through the captain’s astonishment, and in the ensuing silence Renji’s mouth simply moves along his foot, sprinkling every inch with kisses and listening for the quiet hitch of breath that means permission.

 

Maybe tonight isn’t the night that the walls are going to come down, but Renji wants his captain to know that they _can_ , if ever he decides to let them.

 

And Byakuya lets it happen - relinquishes the reins more readily than Renji had expected, staring down at him with wide eyes that seem to tremble as warm lips move higher to graze over the firm muscle of his calf. “Yes,” he murmurs, so belatedly that Renji’s already half-forgotten what question he’s answering; he’s distracted by the low, husky murmur of that voice, so different from the captain’s usual clipped tone. A million things go unsaid between them, but it doesn’t matter - all Renji can think is that somehow, kneeling naked at Byakuya’s feet feels closer and more intimate than any face-to-face interaction they’ve ever had.

 

He keeps it slow. Cherishes every second. Pours into each touch all the devotion and yearning he’s never given voice to. By the time he rises up on his knees, hands grappling blindly with hakama ties as he mouths at a still-clothed inner thigh, Byakuya has given up trying to keep his breathing even - there’s a tremor running through his muscles with each worshipful touch, and when Renji chances a glance up, grey eyes latch onto his and burn with a light that’s hungry and bewildered and _scorching_.

 

“What are - what are you doing?” Byakuya demands again, breathless.

 

“I’m showing you.” Renji’s own voice is beginning to grow hoarse; the knot comes loose in his hands, and he tugs away loosened fabric to reveal flawless pale skin and a bobbing, needy erection. He licks his lips, hungrily. “How much I want this. How much I want to please you...how much I...” Words fail him, and so he does the only thing that makes sense: he leans forward and, in one swift movement, swallows his captain’s cock deep down his throat.

 

Once, a long time ago, Renji had dropped to his knees in the office and begged for permission to do what he is doing now; what he had longed to do since he first took up his position in the Sixth Division. Back then Kuchiki-taichou had guided the movements of his mouth with gentle hands and quiet murmurs of encouragement, carding his fingers through Renji’s hair, tightening only briefly in warning as he neared his peak. Afterwards, he’d lowered them both to the ground and reciprocated, too proud to go down on his knees, but too thorough to leave Renji with any breath left in his lungs by the time they were done. Tonight is nothing like that time. The hands that grip Renji’s hair now are fisted so tight that his scalp burns, and the only sound Byakuya makes is a choked groan: strange and urgent and _pleading_ , somehow. Renji works his mouth up and down the hardened length, tongue rubbing firmly along the underside the way he knows Byakuya likes, and he’s so focused on his task that he’s almost forgotten the persistent aching throb of his own cock in sympathy.

 

All too soon Byakuya pulls him back, breath hissing through gritted teeth as he pulls himself back from the very edge of his control. “This is...you aren’t...this wasn’t the plan,” he whispers brokenly.

 

“Do you need a plan, for something like this?” asks Renji, even though he already knows the answer. He doesn’t rise. He can’t keep his hands from rubbing up and down Byakuya’s legs, caressing, soothing, relishing the feeling of skin beneath his hands. He licks a bead of precome from the tip of Byakuya’s arousal and feels a harsh jolt run through him, like an electric shock. “Will you let me... just let me give you this...” The words are little more than a soft rush of air from his lips, and he resists the urge to dig his fingers into the captain’s thigh and refuse to let go. _Keep him there._

 

Their eyes meet. Byakuya looks... scared, Renji realises. Confused and alarmed by the strange, unwieldy intimacy that has turned the air to treacle between them since Renji dropped unprompted to his knees. This isn’t the subdued, impersonal passion they’ve both grown accustomed to. This is something fiercer, more primal, and it threatens to sweep away the cracked stones of Byakuya’s protective outer walls in its eddying tides. He can see the battle in Byakuya’s eyes, desire and hesitancy, and Renji lowers his head a little further, and holds his body very still, and hopes.

 

_Byakuya. I’m only asking you to let me serve you. Nothing more._

 

At long last, Byakuya’s eyes flicker shut. He gives a short, almost imperceptible nod.

 

Renji’s mouth when it descends again is frantic, ravenous. Something snaps inside him and the lines, the rules - they all fade into the background. The only thing that matters is touching and tasting and _feeling_ as much of Byakuya as he can; the need consumes him until he’s plunging forward wildly, eyes watering, unsteady enough to topple sideways if not for the hand anchored in his hair, swallowing as fast as he can around the solid length in a desperate attempt to hold back his gag reflex. He _has_ to have this. He has to. He can feel Byakuya beginning to tremble in earnest, hips bucking forward clumsily, messily, and when his climax hits it tears a sharp, sobbing cry from his throat.

 

It ends on the slow rattle of a breathless sigh, and Renji falls back on his heels to gulp down air and fight against the vertigo that’s taken hold of him. And all at once he’s so overcome that he barely notices Byakuya sinking down to kneel beside him until a warm, gentle hand comes to rest against his bare shoulder. The other one flutters down almost _shyly_ to his groin, and Renji’s nerves are so overwrought that the first soft touch brings him undone. A blissful tremor tears through his body and he spills himself out on the floor with a shuddering groan.

 

“Renji.” Byakuya’s voice is slightly hoarse, like he’s never heard it before. “Why?” He sounds shaken, urgent - _lost_.

 

There’s so much that Renji could say. His breath is returning to him in shallow gasps, and as he comes back down to earth, he realises Byakuya’s hand hasn’t left his shoulder. He leans into the touch and lets a quiet laugh rumble low in his throat, a placeholder for the words he knows he can’t say - yet. “What?” he says instead. “Sucked you off, is all. Felt like it. Do I need a reason?” _Because you’re everything. Because you need to know that I’m here. Because I_ worship _you, and I’ll spend the rest of my life on my knees for you if that’s what it takes for you to look at me like you did just now._

 

“I suppose not,” says Byakuya. And that’s all he says, but there’s something there in his voice, something shattered and _painfully_ open, that tells Renji everything he needs to know.

 

They understand each other.

 


End file.
